So, sometimes this blog gets neglected because i'm off working/drinking/making sweet love/trying to usurp a government. If you consider the fact that i'm currently not educating myself, (i.e. I have neglected all university study until I can be arsed or most likely, until I'm a middle aged, overweight, agoraphobic who spends her days eating cheese sandwiches on the couch watching Dave Ja Vu and waiting for Gok Wan to come and fix my life) it is correct to say that my brain is not at all stimulated.
This means, the inner workings of my mind do not get chanelled into the human dimension via a creative medium (e.g. comedic blogging) rather, they manifest themselves either as uncensored torrettes-style heckles or outward displays of agression. Not long ago I punched
my laptop in half....true story. The laptop now more closely resembles an Ipad connected, by exposed wires to a key board. Worry not, it's since been replaced and I now have a brand new laptop to assault.
Alas, I am bedridden due to illness (as opposed to being bedridden due to alcohol, a mildly attractive man and the notion that knickers are more comfortable when they're on the floor...BOOM BOOM). So, after watching a shit load of iplayer/4OD/Tvcatchup etc and having mind-numbing "what are you up to?" phone conversations I thought i'd take a stab at putting my crazy into words and use this post to establish Operation: Head Fuck as a recognised educational resource.
TODAY'S LESSON: BIOLOGY, POPULAR CULTURE AND CITIZENSHIP
N.B. This anecdote is only hilarious to people who aren't me.
I recently embarked upon what i'd like to think of as; the quest for piece of mind. I decided that it would be a truly magical experience to take my first steps into womanhood and present my lady zone to a trained professional (giggerty!).
There are so many horror stories around of people living with horrendous diseases and not showing symptoms I thought i'd set a good example to woman kind and open my legs in front of a middle aged man and invite him to place metal instruments inside me.
After a 40 minute wait in a room wall-papered with terror literature ("Do you sometimes get a pain in your stomach? Do you occasionally sneeze? Do you have toes? YOU MIGHT HAVE AIDS!!") I entered the examination room where a kind, maternal looking woman sat waiting. She asked me some routine questions about smoking, drinking and number of sexual partners and, as I lied through my teeth in response I thought to myself how silly I was for worrying about this procedure.
First, she took some blood, i'm not bothered by needles so this was fine. Next, she gave me a backless gown (which I thought was a bit much for a trip to the gyno but apparently he likes his patients to 'dress up') and then I lay down and put my legs in the stirrups.
Quite relaxed, I waited for my examination begin. This is when everything changed.
"Okay, now that you're prepared, i'll go get him"...prepared? prepared for what, are we going into battle?
She dissapeared, leaving me alone, exposed and terrified. Then, footsteps. Heavy ones. Plodding down an echoy corridor. SUDDENLY, The door flies open and in walks........ Lionel Richie?!
I AM NOT SHITTING YOU Lionel Richie is my gynecologist (except he puts on an Indian accent to disguise his true identity).
Heart pounding, I stare upwards and hum a tune in my head...but then all I can think of is Dancing on the Ceiling.
"Scoot down" he insists...I scoot to a position that is both pornographic and beneficial to my yoga training.
There's a clink of metal and that's when I learn about the speculum (it's like a jack but for your foo). "You need to try to relax", he says sharply...."Oh, do I? You see, i'm finding it a tad difficult for a couple of reasons, probably the main one is; LIONEL RICHIE'S HEAD IS IN MY FANNY!"
Speculum goes in. It's not nice...certainly not The Closest Thing to Heaven. "Everything looks fine", he comments. Being Three Times a Lady that's not the best compliment i've received on down there but i'll take it nevertheless.
Finally, he took some "specimens"- don't fall for this ladies. It's just a sex criminal's way of sounding professional when they're sticking lolly ice sticks in your vajay.
The whole experience was hideous and I won't be attending that hospital again for fear i'll get molested by Sting or Stevie Wonder.
Love Will Conquer All
Tory NHS cuts will conquer Lionel Richie
Don't let 80s soul singers look at you uterus,